


it's not that easy

by bacchusofficial



Series: prompts from the blue place [2]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, Mugging, Phone Calls & Telephones, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchusofficial/pseuds/bacchusofficial
Summary: Ring. Jacobi tapped his fingers on his leg, darting looks across his shoulder. Ring. Ring.Click.An exasperated voice. “Yes?”Jacobi blanched. That wasnotthe voice he wanted to hear. “You’re not Maxwell.”





	it's not that easy

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompts on tumblr: “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” “Who hurt you?” and “It’s not that easy.” from anonymous.

No wonder pay phones were disappearing; the walls were disgusting. Jacobi huddled as close to the middle of the box as he could, glad that he’d at least managed to grab his shoes before he’d snuck out of the hospital.

The fluorescents buzzing in the booth overhead reminded Jacobi uncomfortably of the little room he’d just left, where he’d been taken (against his will) after only a Minor bullet wound incident.

He was fine. It had just grazed his arm, was all. Anyway, there was a bandage around it now, and it only stung when he paid attention to it.

(Still, Jacobi used his good arm to dial the pay phone, paying with a handful of change he’d liberated from a pile on some receptionist’s desk.)

Ring. Jacobi tapped his fingers on his leg, darting looks across his shoulder. Ring. Ring.

Click.

An exasperated voice. “Yes?”

Jacobi blanched. That was  _not_  the voice he wanted to hear. “You’re not Maxwell.”

“What a fascinatingly accurate statement, Mr. Jacobi,” said Kepler in that biting, clipped way he always had, like he was sharing his own personal inside joke and was only too pleased to keep the punchline to himself. “Good to see Goddard’s payroll hasn’t been wasted on sub-par observationship. You’re absolutely right: I am  _not_  Dr. Maxwell.”

How did he do that? Fit so many extra syllables into words like  _accurate_ and  _absolutely_ , and manage to do it so well it made Jacobi wonder if he’d been the one saying them wrong the whole time.

A pause. Kepler was waiting for Jacobi to rise to the bait, for him to sigh or roll his eyes or demand to know why Kepler had Maxwell’s phone. Jacobi wasn’t feeling it.

“Would you put her on the phone?” Jacobi asked.

“Dr. Maxwell is busy,” said Kepler.

“What if I say pretty please?”

Kepler’s laugh sounded kind of evil, in a laid-back way, just like Kepler himself. “It’s not that easy,” he said.

Jacobi didn’t have time for this.

“It’s very important.”

Pause. Jacobi looked around again.

“It’s very important. Sir.”

Kepler hummed in the most unconcerned way possible. “It’s late,” he said, amiably. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, instead of distracting Dr. Maxwell from her valuable, important, time-sensitive work?”

“You know, sir, it’s almost like those thoughts slipped my mind after I—“ Shit, Jacobi was rising to the bait. The last fumes of opioids were starting to wear off. He knew he’d told himself his arm didn’t hurt, but it should come as no surprise that Jacobi was in a big habit of lying to himself. He adjusted his grip on the phone so he could use one hand to squeeze the bandages on his arm, hoping that would relieve some of the sting.

He blinked hard, steered himself back on course. “Please,” he said, teeth gritted more in frustration than pain. Okay, a little from pain. “Just. Give the phone to Maxwell.”

“As I said before, Dr. Maxwell is busy. How can  _I_  help you, Mr. Jacobi?”

“You could stop being a pain in the ass,” Jacobi muttered into his shoulder.

“What was that?”

“Oh, I didn’t say anything,” Jacobi drawled.

“After you what, Jacobi?”

Jacobi blinked. “What?”

“You said ‘those thoughts’ slipped your mind after you… what?”

Pause. They loved those.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Excuse me?” Kepler sounded like he was indulging a little kid throwing a harmless tantrum; for the time being unconcerned, even amused, but right on the edge of switching over to punishment mode.

Maybe it was the drugs, or Jacobi’s general death wish, but he didn’t back off.

“I said that’s none of your business, sir.”

“I think you’ll find it’s entirely my business, Mr. Jacobi,” growled Kepler, biting around the words  _Mr. Jacobi_  just like Jacobi had chewed on  _sir_. “And that you’d best start answering my questions.”

Jacobi kicked a pebble out of the phone booth. “Alright,” he said, then, more quietly, “Alright. I got mugged.”

“You. Got. Mugged.”

“Yes, okay? Yes. I was on my way home, and I—“

He realized that there was a noise coming from the other line, and that the noise was laughter. He scowled.

“Hey, it’s not—“

“ _You_ got mugged? And now you’re calling Maxwell to, what, come scrape you off the sidewalk? I thought you were a big boy.”

“Ha ha, very good, Colonel. I’ll have you know I’ve already done all the scraping on my own. I just broke out of the hospital.”

The laughter stopped.

“What?”

Good,  _that_  got his attention.

“Yeah. I got shot,” said Jacobi, almost like he was bragging.

“Who hurt you?”

Uh-oh. Maybe Jacobi should’ve left that part out, after all. Some deep, off-limits part of himself liked Kepler’s voice when it got all low and harsh and enraged like that, but at the same time, he could only let his fight-or-flight kick in so many times before he keeled over.

“Listen, uh. It’s not a big deal,” Jacobi tried to backtrack. “I really just need someone to come pick me up—“

“Where are you.”

Jacobi swallowed, and told him.

“Don’t move,” Kepler instructed. “I’m coming to pick you up.” In his mind’s eye, Jacobi could see the flash of teeth on his next words, the awful glint in his eye, and with that picture in his head, Jacobi could almost be in love with the man. Or, you know, something like that. “And then, you’re going to tell me everything you remember about our friend with the gun, and you and I are going to go on a little road trip. Got it?”

Jacobi couldn’t speak.

“I said,  _got it?”_

“Got it. Sir.”

“Good,” said Kepler, then, “Don’t move,” then hung up.

Jacobi had never been more terrified or thrilled to loiter in a dirty phone booth at half past midnight. Or more relieved he’d retrieved his shoes from the hospital before he’d broken out.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks, as always, to everyone, for everything! kudos, comments, and reading is much appreciated. find me on tumblr @bacchusofficial to submit prompts, jokes, or light-hearted complaints


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